


Reasonable Enough

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-whump with fluff, caretaker Gene and whumped Sam, fluff and feels and smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene takes the well-being of his team quite seriously, and Sam needs all the help he can get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasonable Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breval](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breval/gifts).



> **Breval** hurt her ankle and I wanted to write her a small ficlet as a sort of 'get well soon'! This... is not the small ficlet it was intended to be at the start, and I'm kind of in love with it a little no scratch that, a lot.
> 
> Beta done by the one and only **Loz** ! ♥

Sam rouses at the sound of the door slamming shut, keeps his eyes closed and listens to the clatter and clamour of Gene puttering about the box that is his inadequately small flat. There's no point in Sam looking – he knows it's Gene, just from sound of his footsteps, even the way he breathes. Sam listens a little bit more, Gene hesitating somewhere along the way – perhaps standing and looking down at where Sam is seemingly asleep, sat up in the good armchair instead of over on the bed.

Gene had been with him the day Sam was released from hospital, but that was hardly the start of it. Gene hovered near Sam's bedside constantly those first few hours Sam was mostly conscious, which turned into those first few days, which might just have turned into weeks if Sam had been very unlucky. Sam, groggy and hurt and feeling it, knew he was being petulant by lashing out at Gene for being there instead of out there doing actual work. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Gene's presence, because he did. The pain was bleeding through his drug-soaked reality, and Sam was torn: he needed Gene to be there just as fervently as he needed Gene out there doing his job. Someone still had to catch the bastards who'd kicked ten types of shit out of Sam in the first place, after all.

Only he had already, and that within hours of Sam having been found – Gene hadn't even been smug as he'd announced it, simply stating the facts. Gene wasn't wasting any of his time by spending it with Sam, and that – as well as leaving him feeling safe and secure – made Sam appreciate all of it that little bit more. It certainly eased the discomfort of being stuck in a hospital bed, though not by much.

So the weeks went by, and Sam was announced fit enough to be released: his injuries had been numerous, but Sam had survived, which means he could have had it worse. If Sam had any sense, he could have stayed at Gene's, but, not wanting to be a bother, he'd insisted on being taken to his flat instead. For all he'd already been out of action for two weeks by then, there were still several more weeks to go before his doctor would even begin to consider letting him go back to work. In all that time, Sam would have been a burden, even if he was one that Gene kept saying he wouldn't have minded having around.

What could have been a fight turned into Gene sighing and calling him a stubborn arse but giving him what he wanted, not that either of them truly thought Sam's flat was fit for an invalid in Sam's state. At least it hadn't been a stalemate like it had been in the warehouse – no, Sam had won this one, but what did that mean? There was the broken ankle and foot which were the worst of it, not to mention the sprained wrist and the various other abrasions and bruises, plus the cracked ribs, the cracked humerus bone of his left arm... Putting it all out in a line like that, Sam seemed to be in an extra sorry state.

Sam had never had reason to use the thing before, but his building had a lift that could take them to the second floor – even with Gene's help, the stairs would have been a mountain Sam didn't wish to scale. The lift had its own issues. It was narrow, and between Sam, his crutches, and Gene, there was little space to spare; there was the smell, an unidentifiable stench that seeped from the walls and would likely haunt Sam for days to come; and then there was the rattle, which made the few agonising minutes it took to go from one floor to the next last for an eternity, because between the age of the building and the shoddy state of the lift, it might have turned into a journey they wouldn’t survive.

After he's mended, he hopes to never have to use the thing again.

He must have said something funny, and Gene teased him about it, but Sam was groggy enough from the last of the painkillers they'd fed to him that he didn't mind it much at all (that would come later) – it was Sam's fault he'd even got into this mess. Gene might have agreed to go along with Sam's plan, but it was Sam's plan in the first place: he didn't need Gene feeling guilty. No, he needed Gene to help keep him sane, just as soon as Gene helped get him into his flat.

He settled down to sleep after managing to get some broth into his stomach, followed by hot tea and some more of the pills. He knew Gene had still been there when he'd finally succumbed to his exhaustion, but on waking, Gene was nowhere to be seen.

He missed him already. Gene had been a constant when Sam was stuck in hospital, and now – poof, he was gone. It made Sam feel sad, and lonely, an overgrown child in need of a cuddle (Gene, for all his bluster, was very good at cuddles). An hour later, Gene arrived – along with the ottoman that normally sat on the floor before his armchair, over at his house. Sam was touched, and if he got something in his eyes because of that, he blamed it on all the medicine he was on – that didn't stop Gene from telling him to not act like such a bloody fairy.

It went on from that.

Some days Gene would come check on him during what Sam suspected was his lunch hour, other days cutting his pub-time short and coming over to Sam's instead. Annie had made countless trips over too, most of her own volition, and a few others because Gene asked her to check in on him and it just so happened she was passing by.

The only reason Sam's kitchen isn't bare is because Annie's done the shopping, not that Gene does too much cooking. Sam manages about the room when he's on his own, but it's something of a relief to be able to sit and do nothing but rest while someone else putters about the place.

Even Annie's told him that things would be easier if he had someone to stay with, instead of (in her words, not Sam's) Sam staying on his own because he needed his personal space. It wasn't that, in particular – honestly, it was mostly just Sam not wanting to be a bother. Sam knew he was being a bother, though it was only ever Gene who agreed. That's reasonable enough – Sam's mood's fair when his painkillers have kicked in, but can really scrape the bottom of the barrel when they're running out. Gene's put up with a lot.

Gene starts moving around again, and that puts Sam back in the here and now, sighing softly. There's a whiff of something spicy in the air, something that causes his stomach to churn in anticipation, though there's no telling if that's a good thing or not. At least he's worked his way up from broths. Sam smiles to himself, settling back into the armchair, careful not to jar his right leg any more than he has already (it gets jarred a whole lot). The plastered appendage is currently as comfortable as it could possibly be, leg stretched out, the foot itself resting on the low stool. His left arm is equally comfortable, snug in its sling.

Even more movement. Gene's stood right beside Sam and the armchair now, setting his hand on the back of it as he leans in close. After a few, heart-thumping seconds, Gene drops a kiss onto the crown of Sam's head. 'You awake, Daphne?'

'Mhmm.'

He doesn't move, or open his eyes again, and Gene chuckles and gives him a few more warm, nuzzling kisses, Sam tilting his head to the right in order to let the allow the gentle assault along his cheek and jaw continue. He loves it, Gene's lips on his skin. He's missed this, the way he's missed all of Gene. 'Comfy then?' Gene's voice rumbles against his skin.

'Mhmm.' It's the same softly contented noise from before, and Gene lets out an annoyed huff close to Sam's ear, warm and tickling, and gently kisses one of Sam's mostly faded bruises before he musses Sam's already messy hair with one hand and stands back up.

'Got water on for tea, need to platter up the food – takeaway's fine by you, right?'

'If I said no, would you do up a Sunday roast?'

'It's Wednesday, so no.'

Sam's tired enough, loose enough from the remnants of his painkillers, to giggle. 'Takeaway's fine.'

'There anything you need in the meantime?'

_Some more of your company_ , Sam wants to say, having been close to stir crazy before he'd passed out for his seventh nap of the day. His chest and ribs are still sore, and his ankle has weeks to go before it's out of the cast – of course, the same can be said for the whole of his foot. It's a good thing it was his left arm that was hurt and not the right, he'd hate to be without his dominant hand. There's a week or so to go before he'll be allowed back to work, and that's only going to happen if the doctor thinks he's up to it. He wants to be up to it – could he bribe the man, perhaps? He doesn't make much as a Detective Inspector, but... No, Sam shoves that thought aside, labelling it 'bad idea #879'. It's the lack of work that's had him going mad in the first – well, madder than normal. He's got nothing to do, and mostly no one to talk to, and his flat is miserably small. It was generous, Gene's offer, and maybe Sam should have been a bigger person and accepted it – Gene couldn't have been teasing him. No, he'd come off as completely sincere.

Even when the eventuality of returning to work becomes real life instead of a distant dream, Sam's going to be limping about with the aid of crutches, and he's going to be on desk duty – he simply doesn't care. Sam's flat is a nightmare, as small as a box, and with him and his limited mobility, there's nowhere for him to go, and mostly nothing for him to do. Yes, there are plenty of stairs about the station, but there's also a far more reliable lift that doesn't leave him fearing for his life. He's likely built up quite a pile of paperwork that needs to be sorted through, and he's nearly salivating at the thought of it.

Sam will survive. He's survived this far, so a few more weeks... He might go completely insane before the time is up, but he will survive.

Because he really has missed Gene, the way he's missed having things to do other than sit about and be useless, feeling sorry for himself, and when the pain gets to be too much, try not to act too cranky – Gene, though, stoically enough, has put up with all of Sam's somewhat abrupt changes in mood. Taking medication according to a time table and watching the telly only gets Sam so far, and seeing as how he's always been a fan of older television shows, a lot of what's on these days, he's already seen. They'd announced a new spin- off to Doctor Who starring that John Barrowman bloke, but between Sam having his accident and finally waking from his coma, catching up on telly hadn't been at the top of his list of things to do. He wonders if he'll live long enough to see the series air this time around... Until then, he's stuck with reruns. It's better than having the Test Card Girl pop out of the screen for his next scheduled jump scare, thank God those days are over, but it's all so _old_.

Gene's always been staying over with him a lot. He was doing that already, or Sam would have been staying over at his instead, but it's all so different from what they normally get up to. Physically, Gene's taking extra care with him, which makes a whole lot of sense because Sam's still in the process of healing. They kiss, but they don't ever do anything else. Putting it like that makes Sam sounds like he isn't gracious – he honestly is.

'Am I boring you that much?'

Sam grins. 'You, boring? Never. Just tired still, sorry.'

Gene rolls his eyes at him. 'Just looking at the evidence as it's been presented... You sure there isn't anything you need?'

'Lemme think a minute, I'll let you know.'

'Right, of course, take your time.'

Sam's verbally at the attack – for all he's mentally listed about, he doesn't want to conversation to die. 'Anything fun happen at work today?'

'Yeah,' Gene's eyes sparkle. 'There was a stabbing, bet you'd have loved to analyse the blood splatter whatsamajig.'

Sam grimaces – it's true, he would have. Gene, though, notes his expression and shakes a finger at him, him the well-meaning adult, and Sam the erring child. 'Brought the file with me, you can have a gander at it soon enough – well, after we finish our grub.'

Dinner – hrm. Sam shifts about in the armchair, careful not to bang his foot around. He pushes up on one arm to resettle himself, and Sam grits his teeth, his torso aching. 'What exactly are we having?' He stares over at the assortment of brown paper bags over on the worktop. The spicy something was curry, he's been able to place the scent, but Sam's not sure his stomach is up for that.

'Oh, pork vindaloo for meself, got you a salad.'

Sam chuckles, rubbing at his cheek. 'By salad you mean actual human food, right? I still haven't forgiven you for the rabbit kibble incident.'

As they talked, Gene has been making himself at home. He'd already draped his coat across the back of one of Sam's two regular chairs, and now he's moved on to loosening his tie. As he does, Sam's gaze lingers; he thinks of licking a stripe across Gene's Adam's apple, the texture of his skin, the taste of it, biting down just to hear Gene moan. It isn't fair, because he can't remember how long it's been since he last touched Gene in that way, since Gene really touched him. He wants Gene to kiss him until he forgets how much he still hurts, until... Gene's amused huff snaps Sam back into the present, and he drags his gaze upwards.

'Just what do you take me for, Gladys? Do you honestly think I hold you in that little regard to make the same joke twice?'

He thinks about it, carefully, once and then twice over, not quite certain of the conclusion he's supposed to make. 'Is this a trick question?'

Gene snorts as he laughs. 'I dunno, you tell me. It's real food, Sam, don't get your knickers in a twist.'

Sam shrugs, mollified, and sinks back into the comfort of the armchair. 'It's time for my meds, so if you'd just fetch them for me, that would be lovely... well, if you're still offering.' He's drifting, his broken bones aching dully, a throbbing itch that's impossible to reach.

Gene gives him a look, piercing yet patient. 'Of course I am, your majesty – just, I think I hear the water boiling, so let me go sort out the tea. That'll work a right treat in helping wash away the taste of those nasty pills, don't you think?'

Sam smiles as he nods, letting his eyes slip shut.

–  
–

Sam has, in a manner that's his and his alone, got Gene wrapped about his little finger. What Gene doesn't get is _why_ he's accepted it so gracefully, only knowing that he has – though, in some ways he doesn't feel like naming, the truth of the matter is crystal clear.

Maybe, since it's just for the time being, he's able to let it be – sometimes it's a little tough love that's needed, but this is all rather more drastic than that, because Gene knows just how close he came to losing Sam this time, there's no denying it. What Mikey and Garret had done to Sam hadn't been pretty – Sam was a bruised, bloody mess, still conscious and probably close to going into shock, shaking from the pain but still wanting to know what had made Gene agree with him when he'd first suggested they should split up. There's no forgetting the sight of all that red running down from Sam's mouth, the fresh bruises on his face, how he hissed in pain the first time Gene touched him, and flinched the second. Just five minutes more of the two bastards' combined attention might have put Sam in a much worse place.

Sam was whisked away to hospital while Gene went about tracking down the blokes who'd put him there in the first place. They were young, though, and novices at crime at the level of attempted murder of a police officer – it was just grievous bodily harm, but there was intent for so much bloody more, and Gene would see them go down for it. They were easy enough to find (Sam had been right about that), and with Gene as well as his backup on the move, were arrested within hours.

Gene takes the well-being of his team quite seriously – perhaps he's biased when it comes to Sam, but that can't be faulted, not that anyone knows the truth of it (that's just how Gene wants it). Most see it as him doing the same that his DI would do for him, because Sam's his right-hand man and deputy – they've been through enough together that the world at large knows they have each other's backs. So he's here for Sam, because Sam's not up to doing any of this on his own; Sam would give him the same sort of help if it was Gene who needed, it doesn't even need to be said.

It's just as crystal clear what's going to happen next, when Sam's well enough for it and even Sam's aware of it: he'll have his shitty little flat all to himself, and things will go back to normal. Case closed.

Well, as normal as it ever gets. It's not that Gene will stop having reasons to visit him, just that minding his mending DI won't be one of them.

It's hard to admit it to himself, though, so there's no way he'd ever say it to Sam: that he likes this, likes having someone waiting for him after he's done with a day's hard work, someone who doesn't quietly resent him whenever he brings up the job. Even if he's stuck in Sam's flat, at least that means he's got Sam about to keep him company. Of course, it would be easier if Sam hadn't been so stubborn and done the gracious thing and accepted Gene's invite: an invitation which is still open, not that Sam's likely to change his mind any time soon. Just means that they're being forced to sleep in Sam's shitty little bed instead of Gene's much bigger one, which Gene knows Sam has to regret. Gene regrets it.

Sam, who left a bird to be with him, instead of the other way around.

He considers sloshing whisky into his tea, but holds off out of a rare occasion of 'fair's fair', seeing as Sam can't have any, not in combination with the drugs he's been taking. It's milk and sugar that gets poured into Gene's mug, and just sugar into Sam's. He delivers it over to where Sam's sitting in his worn old armchair, along with the tray that he slides into place (Sam's the one who fusses over the thing and makes sure that it's straight). Gene smirks down at him as he holds his hand out and Sam gives him the cheekiest of grins in return, one that can't help but put emphasis on his yellowing bruises. He's dishevelled and he's showing it, his hair messy and his pyjamas rumpled, even the flush of colour on his cheeks, the soft glow that's running down his throat. He's beautiful, and Gene wants to touch him, kiss him, taste him all over. It's been so _long_ , and none of it's been very fair.

He stares a moment longer and in that one moment, he wants nothing more in the world than to bend down and kiss Sam breathless, to hear him moan, but seeing as Sam's still recovering Gene knows they have to be careful, play things safe.

He dumps the pills into Sam's waiting hand, and Sam quickly downs them with a swig of his hot, sugary tea. 'Ta, Guv.'

'It's nothing to write home about, Tyler,' Gene grouses, fighting to keep himself from showing just how much it pleases him, Sam's simple thanks – it helps to cover up some of the disappointment, and that definitely helps him feel like less of a bastard in general. Sam beams at him and Gene's insides give a little flutter before he grudgingly smiles in return.

–  
–

'Oi.'

'Hrm?'

Sam blinks his eyes open, waking as Gene stands above him, dropping the casefile onto his chest. 'Brought you home some light reading material, remember? S'even got pictures in it – you like pictures, don't you, Brain Box?'

'Everyone loves pictures.' Sam grins and shuffles about in the chair, making himself comfortable without banging the plaster against anything too hard. Gene, with a 'give us a moment, let's make you more comfy', fluffs his pillow and tucks it back behind his head. Sam, full enough from dinner, with his painkillers happily setting down to do their job, is drifting in and out of the moment. Gene, leaning against the chair, loops an arm about Sam's shoulder, stands over him as Sam flips the file open.

He picks through the paperwork as Gene points out one detail or another, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, Gene's arm steadying him and his voice lulling Sam on, and on, and under.

–  
–

Sam, lethargic, almost dead weight, is draped all around him, smile constant, eyes half-closed. 'Shouldn't have told me to get so comfortable,' Sam mutters, lips so close Gene could kiss him – all he needs to do is turn a little... and that's just what he does. Yes, it's just a peck on the lips, not nearly enough, and then Gene's back to focusing on helping Sam get into his bed: he's grumbled at Sam enough for having got himself into this mess in the first place, the result of which led to Gene playing caretaker. For all he's complained, he's glad he can do it, giving Sam the steady support he needs. 

Sam's weight is solid against him, Gene's arm about his back and hand tucked beneath his far armpit. Solid, yes, and warm. Sam snuffles and sighs and Gene's glad of Sam's nearness, the tired heat of his body, real, alive. Maybe he's also as weak as a kitten, but he's steadily getting better. He'll be good as new before either of them know it, and then...

It's what Gene does, but this goes above and beyond that – yes, Gene takes good care of all his officers, doing his best by them as well as he's able. He wouldn't do some certain things for anyone, when he's done all of this for Sam.

–  
–

Sam rouses at the dull tick of metal against wood. 'Leaving these here, in case you need to use the loo.'

Sam nods, blinks, gaze bleary. Gene hadn't been there all through the day, and now Gene's going to climb into the armchair Sam so recently evacuated, in order to get a bit of kip himself. Sam's going to be cold, alone, and Gene's going to be all but miles away from him – on another planet almost, really. 'There anything else you need, before it's lights out?' He strokes the back of Sam's hand with his thumb, and Sam tugs his hand back, covers Gene's in turn.

Gene across the room from his is the last thing Sam needs, cramped bed or no. It doesn't take Sam any time at all to make up his mind. 'Stay.' His voice is just as bleary as his vision, the one word slurring into _staymmmmhm_. Gene huffs, a gentle enough chuckle. Sam presses on, needing to make a point. 'S'cold without you.'

'That so? Your bed's too bloody small.'

'Always make it work when we're havin' sex, don't we? Stay.'

Gene ponders, makes a thoughtful noise. 'I'm not your personal radiator.' But he pulls his hand away from Sam's and goes about unbuttoning his shirt, his suit-jacket having being lost somewhere along the way, at least between dinner and afters. The bed really isn't big enough for this sort of thing, but Sam's desperate enough to feel Gene against him to deal with whatever ends up happening. 'Just let me pop round to the loo then, I'll be right back.'

He really is – Sam closes his eyes, but then the bedsprings scream in agony as the mattress shifts, and he's wide awake all over. As wide awake as is possible, at least as doped up as he currently is. Gene's pulling the duvet back up over them, and Sam snuggles closer, bumping his plastered foot into Gene's shin and getting a hissed 'bloody hell' in response, Gene the one in charge of getting them comfortably set.

'...sorry.'

'Yeah, so am I. Still cold?'

He isn't. Gene's arms are warm about him now, warm and safe, strong and secure – the arms that love him, the man he sometimes hates, who at least hasn't ridiculed him today for having done something so daft as getting himself this badly hurt in the first place. No, Gene's just been endlessly patient with him, kissing him, caring for him, feeding him, _helping_ him, and Sam closes his eyes, and sighs, and settles in to sink, sink, sink down into sleep.

–  
–

'Bit daft, don't you think?' Gene had said to Sam, once. 'Getting all lovey-dovey with each other, when we both know just how much you like it when I throw you against a wall.' Or a filing cabinet, or the bonnet of the Cortina – well, he's getting a bit further away from the point of the matter he was hoping to make. What he means to say is, Sam likes it rough, and Gene likes that Sam likes it rough.

'The two things aren't mutually exclusive, you know. So I like a little bit of column a, but that doesn't mean I can't also enjoy things from column b.' He dabbed at his split lip, the smear of blood trickling from his nose. He was still a bit sweaty from all that exertion, not that they'd done much but hitting, and shouting, which led into them just as aggressively making out.

A little of column a, and column b too... Gene liked aspects of both, just the same.

'Cause fair's fair, right?' He could be lovey dovey and affectionate if he wanted to – right now, then, Gene still had the copper hint of Sam's blood in his mouth, so it was close enough to the furthest thing from his mind. He licked at the back of his teeth, staring across at Sam. Somehow, though, not that he knew why, Gene was the one who brought it up first.

'No wonder you think we should take turns with all the other stuff too.'

Sam tilted his head cockily, the hot, bold, self-assured sort of gesture that made Gene's cock twitch in response. 'I know _things_ , Guv – the sort of things that would rock your world, and blow you away.'

Fighting Sam was one thing, and shagging him another. Yelling at Sam for being a fool was something else, not that Gene hadn't also had himself to blame – it might have been Sam's idea that split them up and left him to be found and beaten bloody by Garret and Mikey, but if Gene hadn't gone along with Sam's idea they wouldn't have separated in the first place, and that's that. It had been a bloody close call already, and if Gene had taken just a few minutes longer... He wouldn't have any of this any more. Sam would be gone.

Waking up with Sam curled up in front of him, warm and sated, and neither of them covered in excess, sticky bodily fluids, because they'd been going at like rabbits the night before? That's a whole different grade of 'something else entirely', the kind of thing that Gene could all too easily end up taking for granted – he'd rather not ever let that happen. He's lost enough in his life to hope that's not the case, and he knows just how close he'd come to losing Sam too.

The bed really is too small for this sort of thing, but Sam's right – he's right a whole bloody lot, actually – they make it work during sex, they can make it work for just sleeping.

They've spent so much time in bed together, some things are old hat by now – Gene's morning wood always arrives on schedule, the thing has a built-in clock, and if things were closer to normal then that wouldn't have to be a problem. But this? This is a problem, and it doesn't seem very fair. Sam is curled in front of him, Sam's back to his front, and if he pressed back just a little bit further, then Sam would be able to feel how hard Gene is already. There's no getting back to sleep in this state, and if he gets up then that's going to shake the bed and that's going to make Sam wake up.

Wait – scratch that last bit. From the way that Sam's shifting in front of him, he's waking up already. Across the room, the morning light is turning the edges of the curtains bright gold, some of that light catching on Sam's hair. Sam shifts about some more, warm beneath Gene's arm.

'Gene?'

'Good morning, Princess. Sleep well?'

Sam's head falls back down onto the pillow and Gene, unable to resist it, nuzzles a kiss to strip of skin between the edge of his hair and the collar of his pyjama-top. 'I'm tired, Guv... I want to get back to work already. I... I hate this. Lying about. Feeling useless.'

Gene sighs, and kisses Sam's neck again – Sam makes a soft, appreciative noise, and Gene knows he should stop. 'Just a few more days, then you can get back to the grind – are you really looking forward to it all that bloody much?'

Sam grumbles. Gene slides his hand up onto Sam's pyjama-clad leg, running it upwards before stroking his way back down. 'Yes, I am. Every day I feel like I'm going to die of boredom before you show back up...' Gene's just getting harder, and Sam's bloody oblivious, and he knows he needs to stop. He pulls his hand back and Sam pushes up on his arm, looking back over his shoulder. 'No, no, don't stop, please. I...'

'What?'

There's heat on Sam's cheeks, but he turns away so Gene can't see his face. 'I liked it, that's all. I need... I need you to touch me.'

'Been touching you plenty, Gladys.' It isn't the same thing.

'Not the same thing though, is it?' Of course Sam would say just what Gene was thinking.

It really isn't, and the plaintive tone in Sam's voice causes Gene's cock to twitch, the treacherous thing. 'I guess that makes two of us,' Gene admits slowly, voice gone husky-sounding, even to his own ears. 'Funny, isn't it?'

'God – no, no.' Sam's got the right of it – it really isn't funny at all.

Gene sets his hand back down, and Sam sighs in relief. 'Hate not having you to talk to at work, and I miss being able to touch you, to taste you...' He leans up, mouth close to Sam's ear, and the breath he blows out sets Sam to moaning, then shifting. His cloth-covered arse rubs back into Gene's crotch, and the moment is agony, bliss, Sam giving a deeper moan as he realises just how hard Gene is. 'Miss a few other things, too.'

He wants Sam begging for it, but he's close enough to begging himself. He strokes his hand down, then back up, fingers dipping under the elastic of Sam's pyjama-bottoms. Sam's skin is burning hot beneath the pads of his fingertips, but maybe that's just Gene's over aroused senses playing tricks on him. Sam shifts a bit more, grinding back against him, making soft, pleased sounds as Gene slides his whole hand beneath the waistband.

'Ray's not nearly as fun a verbal sparring partner as you are.'

'Don't you bloody dare mention – ah.' Sam hisses and his hips jerk up, as Gene finds what he's been searching for (it's hard to miss). Sam's dick is solidly firm against Gene's palm, his fingers wrapping around and giving a few slow, tentative jerks. 'How fucking dare you,' Sam groans.

Gene kisses the back of Sam's neck, licks along the edge of his hair. 'It isn't fair, you being laid up an' all. God, Sam, I want...' He gives Sam a few more tugs, rocking against him now. He wants to press into Sam and press Sam to the mattress, feel the heat of Sam's body encircling him. He wants Sam to bliss out and forget his own name for at least a few lengthy moments, because he's that shagged out.

He wants to turn back time so Sam wasn't hurt at all in the first place, but there's just no doing that.

'Gene.' Sam's voice is growing frantic. 'Please.'

'Please, what?'

'You know what I want. Don't make me say it.'

Gene hums again as he nestles his face into the crook of Sam's neck and shoulder, breathes in the sleepy smell of Sam and sweat, licks at the sweetness of his skin. His hand strokes upwards and then back down, his grip not so tight so as not to feel Sam's prick plump up, smearing pre-cum as he lightly palms the head of it. He's careful, so careful, not to jar any of Sam's hurts, and Gene was daft to think he could get away from it and not touch Sam like this, that somehow Sam wouldn't have noticed. He needs this, they both do.

'I'll stop, if that's what you want,' he says, because it needs to be said. 'You healed up enough for this, or...'

'I need you, please, yes,' Sam hisses. 'Don't stop.'

'Right then – you're a clever lad, Sammy-boy. I need you to tell me exactly what you want?'

'I – I – I need this, that's all,' and Sam throws his head back, thrusting weakly into the tightening grip of Gene's hand. 'Don't stop touching me, please.' Gene can do that. Yes, he toys at the moisture gathering at tip, strokes his hand up and down the silken hot length of it, squeezes down low, massaging Sam's balls. Gene's got too much going on now, and all at once – he slides Sam's pyjama-bottoms down with one hand, Sam's cock hanging free. Gene tightens his hand about him again, and Sam hisses, jerks, moans. Gene rocks his own cloth-covered erection into Sam's now uncovered arse, slides his knee between Sam's legs, carefully lifting the hurt leg as he does. 'I really'd like you to... ahhhh.' Sam goes tense all over, teeth grinding. 'Fuck me, please.'

'Don't think we're ready for that, for all you're on the mend.' He loosens his slacks with one hand, and they both hiss – Gene in relief, Sam in delight – as Gene's cock presses along the crevice of Sam's arse. He grabs the shoulder Sam's got pressed into the mattress with one hand, using it to lock onto him, quickening his thrusts. It feels good, his own pre-cum slick and helping to abate the friction of it, him steadily rocking into, against, Sam's arse. His hand on Sam's own erection, in counterpoint, slows to an agonising crawl. Sam throws his head back again, and narrowly avoids hitting Gene in the face.

'Is this okay?'

'God, yes, Gene – it's amazing.'

Gene tucks his face back in, tastes Sam's skin, the sweat, squeezing his prick, riding his arse. Sam comes with a harsh cry, shuddering all over. Gene bites his shoulder gently and thrusts a few more times, finding his own release.

Time slows to a crawl, stops. It's absolutely perfect, and for all Gene cares, they never have to move again. He kisses the spot he'd bitten, and Sam whimpers, softly keening.

'Tyler?'

Sam groans, shivering. '...I need to piss.'

Gene huffs out a laugh, and lavishes a few more seconds of attention onto Sam's sweaty neck. Sam squirms against him, and Gene strokes down Sam's equally sweaty thigh with his semen-slick hand. 'And a shower wouldn't go amiss, probably – I've come all over your arse.'

'That's the sweetest thing you've said to me in ages,' Sam groans, but then he laughs. 'Come on, I need t'go. And some...'

'Some paracetamol, and some tea, and your painkillers, and some breakfast? Oh, and the rest of the world? That would all be lovely too, wouldn't it? I'll get right on it.'

Sam ponders it, and Gene squeezes him, kissing his neck, his jaw, careful of jostling his leg or his arm or anything at all as he kisses the corner of his mouth. He stretches a bit more, and Sam turns his face to the side to grant him better access, Gene raining down soft kisses onto each and every one of Sam's fading bruises. He finds himself at Sam's mouth, kissing him. It isn't the breath-stealing kiss he wanted to give him the night before, but it's deep and thorough, and at the end of it Sam's gone wide eyed. Gene pulls back, and Sam stares at him, blinking slowly, licking at his lips before smiling faintly.

'Yeah, all that too, but first off let's just... start with the loo.'

'Right, I get what you're trying to say, your majesty.' Gene might have just snarked at him, but he gently extricates himself from the tangle of their bodies, fixes up his trousers before righting Sam's rather messy pyjama-bottoms. He helps Sam up, gets his arm back into the sling, hands over the crutches, knows his help has ended as Sam clomps over to the loo on his own, if only for the time being. He whistles appreciatively at Sam's backside, which garners him just the reaction Gene was aiming for: Sam laughs out loud.

The pleasure is running out of him, little pleasant frizzles of the stuff, and Gene knows that all too soon he'll have to head back in to work. He's going to have to make the best of the time he has with Sam, because if he lets it get away from him, it'll be over in a flash.

–  
–

Sam rouses at the sound of the door slamming shut, immediately opening his eyes. He's spent his day watching telly and feeling slightly less sorry for himself, with the casefile to keep him company as well as the distractedly warm memories of the morning he'd spent with Gene. He dreamt some during the day, and woke with the taste of blood in his mouth, Gene's voice echoing in his ears. Now Sam's perched in his armchair, comfortably drowsy instead of panicked and fully awake, and Gene grins at him and hefts up the bag – Gene's here now, he's real. Sam's safe.

'How does the laal maas sound?'

Sam chuckles softly, eyes drifting shut. Not doing anything is exhausting, he really needs to get up and off his arse. 'Too bloody spicy.'

That's got Gene laughing some in return. 'I know you didn't fuss about me bringing you the salad, but then I thought... well, I remembered you liking the malai kofta.'

Sam opens his eyes, smiling wide. 'I love you.'

Gene, stood at the worktop, hesitates – after everything else, how could that catch him off guard? It does, whenever Sam happens to say it – not that he does as often as he could have, instead saving it for special occasions, times like now. Gene turns, slowly, his expression unreadable at first. The moment aches, and Gene's expression changes – from rain to clear blue sky, with just the right amount of sun. He smiles, just as wide as Sam is smiling, and Sam's heart beats overtime in his chest, butterflies and knots.

'It's got to be obvious an' all, what with all the bloody rigamarole I willingly go through for you, but I love you too. Now, be a good boy and stay awake just a little bit longer, let's get some supper and your painkillers in you before you up and pass out.'

Sam smiles a little bit more, drifting on something much more potent than any of his painkillers. 'Yes, Guv.' He's not up to making any promises – not right now, at any length, when he's too tired from a day of doing absolutely nothing for anything close to resembling actual clear thought – but after an admission like that? All he can do is try.

Gene's face softens all over as he smiles over at Sam a few moments more. 'It's a nice break and all, you being so agreeable. Don't suppose it's meant to last, eh?'

Sam huffs and wishes there was something close at hand he could chuck at Gene's suddenly smarmy grin. 'You _wish_.'

–

'You'll make me that roast on Sunday... won't you?'

'Go back to sleep so I can get some sleep, and I'll think about it.'

–

When Gene makes his decision and cooks it up, along with all the bells and whistles, not only does Sam have the decency to act gracious, he also acts surprised. Somehow it's that small detail that makes it most worthwhile, that and how Sam smiles.


End file.
